“My!” ejaculated Dorothy, opening her eyes very wide; “that’ll be better than Punch and Judy, besides we’ve been having them everywhere I’ve been all winter, and the man that unswallows the rabbit and the bowl of goldfish and paper flowers beside. But why mightn’t Hamlet run away with the basket and gobble the things himself?” added the practical young lady. “Because--because he’s twained--he wouldn’t _think_ of such a thing,” stammered Pinkie, such an objection never before having entered her brain. The guests being arranged, food was the next question. “There’ll be ice cream and sponge cake and chocolates, and real tea to pour out of a tea-pot for us,” said Pinkie, readily, “and five-o’clock teas, and samwiches with sausages between for the dogs, and buttermilk, and a bone each to take home with them. Mother told cook yesterday to collect nice strong bones that won’t chip up and hurt their insides. Then there’ll be cookies, too. You make dog cookies with lard. Miss Jule invented them, ’cause dogs love lard.” The guests being duly invited before luncheon on Tuesday, all promptly accepted before dinner time of the same day, and Pinkie and Dorothy went to bed very early, intending to rise with the sun and begin their preparations, for Dogtown mothers were very sensible and insisted that when little entertainments were given, the children should do as much as possible of the preparation themselves, instead of casting the burden upon the servants, and then spending the intervening time in fault-finding. Pinkie’s mother purposely darkened the room, however, so that they might have a good long sleep, for after breakfast was quite soon enough to begin. Pinkie discovered the very first thing that it wasn’t churning day, and was about to wail at the lack of buttermilk, which was a much esteemed beverage of at least five out of the six dog guests. “Oi’ve crame enough for the shmall churn the day, and if ye’ll bate it for me I’ll make out to give ye the buttermilk, for wid the ice to freeze and cake and cookies I’ve me hands full,” said the good-natured Irish cook, wiping Pinkie’s tears away with the corner of her gingham apron, one of the peculiarities of the helpers in Dogtown being that were they native or foreign, black or white, they were as fond of children and dogs as their employers. Dorothy wished to churn the butter, but as Pinkie said, “The first time you do it, you splatter it all about, and nobody gets any buttermilk but the floor,” adding, “but I’ve done it more’n seven times, and I know how.” So Dorothy was persuaded to cut out the cookies instead, and chose a plain round cutter, saying wisely, “I’d best not make cat and rooster cookies ’cause it might teach the doggies to eat what they shouldn’t.”